Nothing is Ever Forgotton, Not Completely
by Flipping Seltzer
Summary: When Mal's grandmother dies, the Captain is forced to face his own demons and some long kept family secrets. Secrets that may lead the crew into the hands of the Alliance or help Mal conquer old insecurities. Pre-Serenity.
1. Chapter 1

Nothing is Ever Forgotten, Not Completely

Chapter 1

2515, Terraformed Moon Shadow, Reynolds Ranch

"Momma tell the story again." Mal Reynolds snuggled down into his large quilt and gave his mother his best grin. There was only one story he wanted to hear, only one he'd wanted to hear for months, and lately it was taking more and more charm to get his momma to retell it.

Her patience wore thinner as the weather grew colder. "I've told you that damned story every day for a month." She snipped, tucking the warm blanket in around him. But Mal just kept smiling hopefully, recognizing the fond glint in her eye despite her harsh words. She swept her warm, calloused palm over his forehead, checking for any hint of the fever that had bedridden him the past few months. Smiling as her check revealed dry and regular skin, she scooted him over and sat down on the bed beside him, bracing herself against the headboard. The young boy inched over so his head was in her lap, his little body as close to hers as was possible with covers between them. "Oh all right- but this is the last time!" Cool fingers threaded through his hair and he yawned, sleepy despite himself. "_Once upon a time-_"

"No, no, no." He sat up, interrupting his mother.

"Malcolm Reynolds." The scolding tone wasn't playful any longer. "You interrupt me like that again and I'll tan your behind, sick or not!"

He inched back down, nuzzling his head back into her palm. "Sorry ma. I just... you can't start there. You have to talk about grandma first." He had a feeling this might be the last time he head this story for a while and it needed to be perfect, so he could remember it just right.

"Your grandma isn't part of the story." Her voice was tense and he wondered if he'd get any story at all.

"Ma please? It makes it better if you start with how you were a little girl."

There was silence and then the fingers slipped back into his hair and a minute after that his momma's soft, strong voice started up. "When I was a little girl, whenever the skies were clear, my mother, your grandmother, used to come into my room and wake me up. Just me- not Uncle Bud or Aunt Kate. She used to slip me into my coat and carry me outside and we'd lie in the grass and stare up at the stars. It was our special time, just the two of us and millions of stars. And every time, right as we spotted the brightest star in the sky, she'd tell me the same story. The story that my father told her the night that they met- the story of The Broken Hearted Prince...

_"Once upon a time there was a prince, who was handsome and charming and stole people's hearts. But he was kind prince and never broke them and so everyone happily gave him their precious love. But although he had this collection of hearts, he, himself, never truly loved anyone until he met his true love, a servant in his castle..."_

2535, Firefly class ship Serenity, Captain's Quarters

Mal groaned as he rolled over, rudely awakened as his bladder insisted he void last night's tea binge. He stared at his ceiling, unhappy to be pulled away from a rare good dream. Too often his mother's cameo's in his dreams were negative- her screaming at him never to come back if he went to fight, the sight of her tombstone outside the burnt ranch that was once their home. Slowly he stood and moved toward his small bathroom alcove ; emptying his bladder, he stared at his face in the mirror as he remembered the old story.

The Broken Hearted Prince. He'd loved that damn fairytale.

Sick with a bad pox for two months, it was the only thing that had kept eleven year old him entertained. He was so feverish the doctors were afraid he'd slip away if he fell asleep and so his mom told him the story with a desperate passion as the doctor raced into town to get medicine. Mal lifted his chin and rubbed at a small, round scar- his scratching post, his mom had called it. The only pox she'd allowed him to itch. He barely recalled the illness but that story and the memory of his mom sitting on his bed, warm and smelling of butter... if he closed his eyes he could feel her beside him, hear her voice.

He shook himself free from that memory and pulled on his trousers, checking the time. Early. Early enough that Wash and Zoe would still be abed and Kaylee would still be tucked into her hammock. The four of them, occasionally Book or Inara, were the only one to keep to a regular, early rising schedule and that was only because the damn ship would probably break down the second one of them slept in. The rest of the crew operated on either a no-sleep-job or sleep-as-much-as-you-can-between-jobs basis, awakening mostly for meals or to do general chores. But he might just have the ship to himself at this hour, which was good because he was feeling nostalgic.

And for him, nostalgia usually involved being a 'mean-old-captain', to borrow Kaylee's phrase.

After quietly heading up his ladder and to the bridge, Mal settled himself in the co-pilots chair and stared out at the stars as his ship soared among them. That was the best part of the story, in his childish mind, the part about the stars. He liked the idea of his prim and proper grandmother laying in the grass, of doing something secret and special, of telling a magic story that only he and his mother had ever heard.

In reality the tale isn't quite as magical. The shine wore off the beginning of the story as he grew older and understood more about the harsh reality that the story hid. His grandmother only woke his mother because, unlike Uncle Bud and Aunt Kate, his grandpa Phil wasn't her real father. Her real father was the scoundrel who'd seduced his grandma with the fairytale and then left before his mother, Maddie Mae, was born. Wealthy Philip Reynolds married her anyway, accepting and loving Maddie despite her bastard status. But Mal knew that his grandmother silently resented his mother for representing her foolishness. That was why they shared those secret moments- to assuage his grandmothers guilt. That was how his mother came to see it anyway.

Mal had his doubts that it was that straightforward. His grandmother was a cold woman who preferred adults and silence to frivolous, loud children, but underneath her stern exterior he'd always known there was affection. He'd seen the pride in her eyes when she saw what Maddie created with her life. If she, a woman who was efficient to a tee, took the time to share those wondrous stars, there had to be a reason. But his mother was never able to give up that old resentments. Resentments felt deeper when Mal's own father abandoned them, in a cruel echo of her mother's past. Once again grandpa Phil came to the rescue, this time with money to support the ranch until his mother got back on her feet, money that she repaid- with interest.

As an adult he understood his mother's love/hate relationship with the memory and the story itself, comprehended why she suddenly told it and just as suddenly refused to. It was a special story. A fairytale that's magic wasn't in the story but the telling- something to only be whispered quietly, privately, when you were desperate or lonely or unable to say the words you really meant.

He'd told the story only twice in his life: once, in a foxhole to three scared men who died in the morning and again, in his solitary cell at the prison camp, whispering to himself and God.

It was odd too, for a fairytale. Untraditional and without a clear moral. And in the end, horribly sad. The Broken Hearted Prince. It wasn't the sort of thing you should be telling children- full of death and no happy endings.

The captain kicked his feet up onto the console, carefully not to switch off the autopilot, and considered the dream. What had brought it on? He hadn't thought about that story in a long time. "Once upon a time," he muttered, shaking his head. It was the damn tea's fault. Unable to sleep, he'd stumbled into the kitchen, only to discover an impromtu gathering of the crew. After inquiring about any possible coup's he'd gladly accepted a cup of Inara's tea- she made the best stuff, rich and spicy- and sat with the rest, glad for once to be gathering without a threat from the Alliance hanging over their heads. It turned out that Shepard Book was telling a story, a whimsical tale about knights and windmills. The Shepard's story inspired Wash, who told something from his home planet and soon everyone was sharing fairytales, well known and otherwise, even the crazy girl, who kept interrupting Simon so much to correct his retelling of Hansel and Gretel that he, exasperated, told her to just do it herself. It was amazingly normal and even Jayne, who could ruin just about anything, was polite and not vulgar-no more than usual anyway. It reminded him of home, of sitting around the campfire with the ranch hands.

And apparently, of his mothers special story.

He didn't share The Broken Hearted Prince last night, instead choosing a spooky, unimaginative ghost story that his mothers foreman had always told to death. He hadn't even considered the Prince- it wasn't something he wanted to share with Jayne or the Doctor. Maybe Kaylee or Zoe... or Inara. Even Wash might appreciate it in light of their newly discovered (tortured) comradeship. He sat there, staring at the stars and considering his crew and their reactions to his family's private fairytale when the alarm signifying a hail dinged. He punched the button to turn off the beeping and flipped the switch for the vid screen. "Mal!" A wide mustachioed face greeted him.

"Monty. Don't you know its rude to make a call before dawn?" Mal grinned, only half serious about the time.

His old war buddy laughed. "You're in space boy! No dawn that I know of! Besides, you answered the damn wave didn't you?"

"I did." Mal waved his arms. "So what are you waking me at this god-forsaken time for then?"

Monty's face, usually so, obnoxiously, content, dropped into something close to sorrow. "Bad news, I'm afraid. Got a call." He ran a hand over his face, brushing at his ridiculous mustache until it stuck out at all angles. Mal's gut dropped. Broken Hearted dreams never meant good news. Monty not wanting to talk meant bad news. "Your family- you've never given them a way to reach you?"

Mal's gut started churning now, a sick feeling rising up. "Didn't see much of a reason to. They made their feelings on me coming 'round pretty clear." His family were firmly anti-war - non-violence to their cores. Bad enough that he went to war- that that war effected them, effected his mother- but that his side lost? Disgraced, traumatized war veterans had no place at his family table. "Made their feelings about me period, very clear." He'd apparently inherited his mothers resentful streak as well.

"Damnit Malcolm. Boy, sometimes your pride blinds you-" Monty stopped his rant. Seeming to catch himself and realize this wasn't the moment to lecture the sergeant. He took a deep breath. "Well, your family seemed to know that I how to get a hold of you- got a wave late last night." Monty pursed his lips and then came out with it. "Your grandmother's dying Mal. Doctors are giving her a few days to live. Apparently she's been asking for you- wants to see Maddie Mae's son." Monty read off of a slip of paper. Mal closed his eyes at the mention of his mother's name and opened them to Monty's sympathetic gaze. "Your aunt said to tell you that they're all at your grandma's house, waiting on the end. It would mean a lot if you could be there."

Mal snorted. "Did she say that or did you add that little gem?"

His old friends face reddened. "Just because a person can't bring themselves to say somethin' don't mean it ain't there." He blustered up and raised an eyebrow. "How's that pretty companion by the way?"

The younger captain scowled, unappreciative of the implication. "Oh shut up old man."

"You'll regret it if you don't make the effort boy." Monty cut off the connection after imparting his last shot, as unhappy with the conversation as Mal. The captain stared at the blank screen. Technically, his grandmother was the last blood relation he had left and it was miraculous that the old bat was even still around. Hell, he was pretty sure pure willpower was the only thing keeping her alive as it was.

"I'll change course right now." He jumped as Wash's voice spoke up behind him. He spun, almost falling out the chair and saw the pilot and Zoe in the doorway, sympathy and confusion on their faces respectively.

The lights flipped on and the blond man dashed for the controls. "Don't." He grabbed Wash's hand before it could pull up the navigation screen. "We keep going to Persephone. Work to do."

He stood, head in a daze and almost ran straight into Zoe, who caught him by the front of his shirt and started pulling him out the door. "Honey, go ahead and turn us around. We can get to Shadow in day?"

Wash's hands hovered over the controls, clearly conflicted. "Uh... yeah."

"Do it." She yanked Mal out of the bridge.

"Zoe! I'm the cap-"

"Shut up." The tall woman snapped. It was so reminiscent of his mother that Mal did shut up, all way down the hall and into his room, Zoe following him down and then grabbing his shirt again.

They stood in silence for a minute, her looming over his slightly shorter frame. "While I wouldn't be opposed to actually making good on Wash's proposal that we get it on, I don't really thi-" He began to lighten the mood before Zoe shook him hard, yanking him back and forth so hard he felt whiplashed.

"You," she began, breathing hard through her nose. "Sir you have family?"

He flushed. "Not really. I-"

"People who are related to you are physically alive?" Zoe said slowly, as if he was a small child.

Fearing another shaking he roughly detached himself from her tender mercies. "I suppose so, yes. My grandmother and my mother's step-siblings and so on. But they don't want anything to do with me and that's just-"

Again she cut him off. He was starting to get really annoyed at not being able to finish a sentence. "After the war, when we started all this," she gestured around at the ship, "I asked you if you had any family- anyone who'd miss you. And you told me, and I quote, "The only person I ever had was my mother- she's gone and there's no one else who'd miss me." That's what you said. You lied to me."

He voice had gone low, a deadly pitch that meant she was serious and now was not the time to be glib, despite his slightly hysterical mood. He took his own deep breath. "I never lied. What I told you- it was the truth. My fam- those people don't want anything to do with a person like me. My ma... we didn't get along with them and they didn't get along with us. After what happened-" This time he cut himself off, unable to voice the truth even here, on his ship with his best friend. He cleared his throat. "It's better this way."

"You did lie." Zoe said carefully. "But now, now sir I see that you were lying to yourself."

"Excuse me?" He drew himself up, own voice dropping dangerously.

"I have no one. No one but that wonderful man up there. My parents are dead, my brother died in the war. No cousins or aunts or uncles." Zoe started tonelessly listing relatives. "Dead, all of them. I thought we... I thought we the same. But we're not. Because you're a coward." she held up a hand to stop his interruption. "They don't want anything to do with you? How do you know if you don't talk to them? If you don't let them even try? We are going to Shadow. We are going, because I don't know what demons you're running from Mal, but I don't want them hanging over this boat. You might be captain but we're partners and I'm putting my foot down because I can't... I can't follow a coward." She seemed to have more to say but lowered her hand, body language still angry, still prepared to fight.

But at the moment he was too tired to fight. He'd have plenty of time to be screamed at when they got to Shadow. Now he just wanted the rest he'd been deprived of this morning. "Fine."

"Fine." She parroted. "I'm going upstairs now- once I leave this bunk this conversation never happened."

He nodded, shucking off his shirt before she even reached the ladder. "You're in charge- wake me if we're attacked by reavers." He fell onto his small bed, eyes on the ceiling. "Oh and Zoe?" He heard her boots stop on the bottom rung. "Can you... tell the others? I don't... I just can't, right now."

"Yes sir." And then she was up the ladder, closing the hatch and he was alone in the dark once more. This time there were no stars lighting his way.

Chapter 2

_"Now, the prince tried not to love the servant, because it was against the rules, and the servant was cold and bitter, the only one in the kingdom who disliked the prince. But it was no use- the prince had seen through the servant's cold exterior into his heart and he knew he had to add it to his collection. And so the prince was extra kind to the servant and worked hard to earn his trust. It worked and the servant slowly revealed the truth behind his bitterness."_

2535, Firefly class ship Serenity, Kitchen

"His grandma's dying?" Kaylee put her hand to her mouth, tears welling up for her captain. For all that Mal could be a grouchy ol' bastard, she knew he was a marshmallow inside. She couldn't imagine losing a family member herself, blessed with a large number of siblings and both parents alive. Zoe had waited to explain until the evening, excepting Inara, who she'd privately informed earlier so she could change any client appointments. She'd been expecting that to be the hardest, thinking that Inara would fight about losing customers and getting off schedule again, but the beautiful woman had just gone pale and then immediately pacified the 2IC, informing her she could easily reschedule any appointments.

But it was this, informing the rest of the crew about her captain's business, that she realized she was most uncomfortable with. This was the second time today she'd done a great deal of talking in uncomfortable scenarios, but it seemed that with the Captain unable to deal with the situation, she had to do her duty and step up.

It wasn't that she resented Mal, not really, about the lying. She'd assumed they had no secrets and perhaps that was more her fault than his- it seemed that once she'd married Wash the captain had slipped away, quietly sliding into the background of her life, unless they were on a job. It had just been the two of them, for so long, through so much, and then she'd (well Mal had initially) brought in this larger than life blond pilot who'd quickly become the sun to her. So maybe she was to blame- she may have neglected him, let him keep his secrets and thoughts while she'd confided in Wash. And then Inara had come, and despite all efforts to the contrary, Zoe could see the attraction and (although Inara and Mal would never admit it) the respect. It was Inara that Mal turned to regarding hard decisions about finances and jobs. Zoe was his strategist, but Inara was his sounding board.

Zoe quietly considered the dark haired woman as the crew voiced their distress. The companion had taken it very well... did she know? Had Mal shared this with her as well? Zoe frowned, ears informing her mind of the conversation at hand.

Simon was speaking. "Is she sick? I could bring my med kit-"

"Not necessary Doc." Mal's rough voice cut in. "Clara's a good 104 years old- she's lived a plenty long life. Woman ain't sick. She's just old."

"Anything we can do Mal?" Jayne spoke up, uncharacteristically heartfelt. Mal paused in his examination of the cupboard, no doubt thinking the same thing.

The ex-soldier considered Jayne, who, hat in hand, was watching Mal carefully. The merc was a vicious killer, no doubt, but she'd seen him poor over letters from his mother, who he himself wrote diligently at every port. It was a sincere offer from a man who understood family. "No. No Jayne." The Captain busied himself with tea once more, then got out of sorts as River slid in behind him and gracefully began making the beverage. He looked on, lost as to what to do, openly avoiding the looks of the crew. Wash and Inara had slipped into the small room as well, the companion slipping gracefully next to Kaylee and Simon on the couch, while Wash hovered at Zoe's elbow. The Captain took a deep breath, stretching out his suspenders before speaking. "I'll suppose you all plan on getting off at Shadow?"

"We'd like to pay our respects Cap'." Kaylee spoke up, soft, sympathetic smile on her face.

"Right then. There's some things you should know- 'bout my family. I come from ranching folks-"

"Knew tha' cap." Kaylee broke in.

Mal silenced the girl with a seldom used, stern look. "Ranching folks who were... real good at ranching. Got to be that, at a certain point my grandpa Phil didn't even have to go to the ranches anymore. Course, my ma and I..." he trailed off, shaking his head, clearly getting off topic. "What I mean to say is that they're upstanding, righteous men and women." He eyed them all. "Who don't know, or will know, a thing about smuggling. Doc, River, you'll be fine on Shadow- it's an Alliance planet alright, but rim enough that I doubt they'll be anyone pecking about. Sheppard Book," he grit his teeth, "don't know if they'll be a priest on hand, but it'd do my nana some comfort if you'd do a prayer for her. As for the rest of you, dress right, no swearin', and No. Asking. Questions." With that he left the bridge, silent as he came in, leaving a confused crew in his wake.

"Is Mal gorram rich?" Jayne broke the tension rudely, rolling his eyes when everyone grumbled at him collectively.

...

It turned out, Inara thought to herself, that Mal's family was quite well off. She took in the sweeping home in the center of town with an appreciative eye. Not so rich as to be able to afford a companion, but well enough that Inara knew, she just knew, that half the Captain's bad manners were deliberate rather than a result of poor breeding.

She could have even dressed up a bit more for the occasion. The companion had toned it down in honor of the Mal's grandmother, choosing a somber blue dress- it was almost matched by Mal's cousin's, Hallie's, own outfit. The young woman had answered the door when the ragtag group had entered. She was staring in unabashed curiosity at them all, but especially Mal, who she'd recognized right away and tried to effusively greet before he'd coldly pushed her away. So now they sat.

Apparently, there was already a group, old friends, in with Clara but she'd be happy to see Mal and his friends as soon as they left. Mal was as tense as she'd ever seen him and she cautiously put her hand on his bicep, silently pleading for him to tone down his anxiousness- it was making everyone nervous, especially River, who was twitching every time he got up to pace. The fact that he'd put on a suit, a nice, well tailored one she'd never seen, probably wasn't adding to his clam. He relaxed under her arm but the muscles tightened again as an older blond woman entered. "Malcolm." She greeted, her face barely breaking into a smile.

He stood, dragging her with him as her bracelet caught on his jacket sleeve. "Aunt Kate." His face a mask too, but she could see the lines of displeasure at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks for calling."

"Thank you for coming." The chill thawed slightly as the woman glanced at Inara. "Is this your wife Mal? Introduce the young lady then."

Mal looked at Inara socked, his face reddening from embarrassment. Inara took over. "I'm afraid I don't have that pleasure ma'am." She yanked her arm free of Mal, breaking the clasp on her bracelet in the process, but nevertheless, extended her hand gracefully. "Inara Serra. I'm a friend of your nephews." The two women shook, silently judging one another. Sensing that Mal wasn't going to step in Inara motioned behind them. "And this is the rest of Mal's crew. We all wanted to come and... show our support." Aka snoop.

"...I see." The woman was obviously finding them lacking in some way because she quickly went mentally elsewhere. "Hallie I need you to run along upstairs and make sure Hannah has gotten the blue bedroom ready- Mal you can stay there tonight- and then call up Anderson's and tell him we'll be needing a block of rooms."

"Aunt Kate-"

The woman sighed. "Oh don't start with me Malcolm. We just don't have the space. You didn't tell us you'd be bringing company- the house and the guest cottage are full up I couldn't possibly-"

"Aunt Kate." Mal's firm voice brought the two women to a standstill. "Really. It's not necessary. I just came to say my peace and see Nana. We'll be sleeping on the ship tonight."

Inara could have sworn she saw the woman's eyes dim for moment. "I see. Well then never mind Hallie." The girl was still halfway out the door eyes darting between her relations. "Oh for heaven's sake sit down girl! A lady doesn't stand gawking in doorways." She sat down as she snapped, picking up a half full glass of ambiguous clear liquid that the companion had spied earlier. They all sat, or in the crews case lurked, for a another few minutes and then there was a slight commotion from the sliding doors across the hall from the sitting room. Inara guess they'd set it up as a sick room so guests wouldn't be tromping through the house.

The doors opened and she swore the air flew out of the room they were in. Three Alliance officers, were letting themselves out, exchanging soft goodbyes with the older man at the foot of the bed. Mal and the rest of the crew instantly stood and came together, creating a human shield around Simon, who' grabbed his sister in a tight hug the moment he'd seen purple. They moved forward a little, closer to the officers, but also closer to the door.

The two female officers stepped into the foyer, voices softly echoing off the stone. "She looks awful."

"She's dying River- I doubt you'd look as wonderful as you think."

"I've been dying Izzie- and let me tell you, I look good." Despite their jovial words they seemed genuinely upset, each tugging on their uniforms uncomfortably. Inara eyed them both closely. Another River? Odd but not unlikely. What was unlikely was that the two were career soldiers of any kind, let alone Alliance. The curly haired blond held herself too largely for a small woman, confidence and sensuality oozing out her misfiting uniform. The other, smaller dark haired girl was still, standing too still for anyone but a companion or warrior of some kind. Zoe stood that way. She lacked the confidence of her friend so Inara put her money on the later. She glanced over at Mal and Zoe. They too, seemed to have caught onto the problems the two presented. Perhaps not the same way Inara had, but she didn't doubt their conclusions- the two were extremely perceptive.

Her eyes caught something else, this time in their own group. Sheppard Book's usual jovial and kind face had whitened and gone slack. He was staring at the women like he'd seen a ghost, trying to inch back from their group without drawing attention.

Now two more men exited the room; the third soldier and a figure in dark clothes and sweeping blue coat. She hadn't initially seen him- he'd probably been near the head of the bed. His face was tan and composed but underneath she could see a facade near crumbling. She heard Kaylee gasp and didn't blame her- the man was extremely handsome, perhaps the most handsome man she'd seen in some time, with his classic jaw and thick dark hair. The small uniformed man looked down at a pad in his arms. "Sir... the meeting?"

Sir? So he was a soldier too- probably of a high rank to have a secretary that traveled with him to sick friends besides.

"Oh give it a rest Frank." The dark haired woman snapped. "It's not like they can start without us."

"No we should go." The handsome leader agreed softly, looking back into the sickroom wistfully. A good thing too, because the blond was looking over at their group, head tilted in interest, honey eyes curious like a cats. "Kate." He stepped forward, stretching out a hand to Mal's aunt, who stood to meet him and took it cautiously. "A pleasure to meet you- despite the circumstances." He gestured toward his PA, "and don't forget, send everything to Frank. Anything she needs, wants- I'll take care of everything." his eyes slid over their group, pausing on Inara and Zoe and then staying for a full minute on Mal before he turned, long coat sweeping out behind him dramatically. The small man hurried after him but the two women paused, honey and blue gazes searching them. Finally they affixed on one member of their little gang. Book.

...

An: So what do we think? Everyone portrayed in character? This is a slight crossover but I'm not going to say until people guess.


	2. Chapter 2

I disclaim.

Chapter 3

"_Once the servant had been a knight who loved a fair maiden, but his foolish queen was tricked by her enemies, her castle sieged, and the maiden was taken before the knight could save her. The knight didn't rest until he found the maiden, but by then it was too late- she'd been struck by an evil curse."_

Zoe was not interested in Mal's cousin's obvious wealth or his aunt's clear distaste. She was far more interested in the purple-bellies exiting the sick room and fixating on the Shepard. She'd had her ideas about the religious man since that little stunt when he'd been shot- not many men get fixed up by Alliance doc's without a word and then sent on their way the same way.

The two women who'd exited the room had her attention immediately. They stood too still, too silent to be the usual Alliance drones. Lately, she felt all she saw of the lawmen were new, soft-footed civvies, fat men or their sons who'd sat out the war and then slid into their places when peace came. There were a few exceptions, but she was more than willing to venture that most Alliance forces had their fill with the end of the war- practical woman that she was, Zoe knew that both sides saw their share of pain and misery by the end. Soldiers were soldiers; her disrespect for the Alliance went as far as their politics and the new, untried men they had policing.

It was hard to call a man a coward when he looked down the end of a gun back at you.

But these women... they had the hard look of fighters, of pain and cages that she saw in her own mirror on bad days. They stared at Book and she saw the preacher look back with the same haunted eyes. The handsome man, who she just knew Kaylee would been crooning about had they not been in mixed company, glanced at his companions and the older woman, the one with the big hair, flicked her head at Book. He glanced at him, ignoring his secretary's prattle, and cocked his head, hands digging into the pockets of his big coat. "Let's go." He said finally. "Leave the family to their goodbyes." And with that he swept out, Alliance yes-man on his heels.

The two women lingered, eyes on Book until River, that crazy girl, muttered, "Two by two, hands of blue." The Doc pushed his sister behind him, but it was too late. Keen sharp-shooter eyes were on the girl in a minute, even as bodies moved to the exit.

The dark haired girl smiled, blue eyes as lost as River's. Her blue eyes took in the parts of River she could see, the dancer all elbows and knees behind her brother, pale face tilted and a slight smile on her face. She replied carefully, "Three by three, best to flee." Mal's aunt stared at the two of them with confused eyes but then the girl was forced through the doorway by her large haired friend, who was snickering and shot them all a knowing glance.

"How...odd." Mal's older relative said, trying and failing to break the tension. Simon was practically vibrating he was so nervous, and Mal who had been so on edge she thought he was likely to go as crazy as the crazy girl, looked like he was about to fall apart due to his panicked despair.

Zoe rolled her eyes at Wash, who was responding to the nervousness by telling horrible jokes. "... and so the rabbit died." Her husband ended lamely. Hallie, Mal's cousin, laughed shrilly, picking up on her family members foul mood and willfully ignoring it. The ex-soldier admired her determination but silently wished she wouldn't encourage her silly husband, who would now be convinced that his joke worked... It did not. She elbowed him in the ribs and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry dear." He muttered weakly, nervous blue eyes on the door, as if expecting the purple-bellies to yell, 'got'ch ya!' and come back in to arrest them. No one came.

The whole room seemed to listen closely for the sound of a engine and all of them unclenched when it came, signaling that the group had gone. Mal's aunt reached for her glass again, ice cubes rattling, "Old friends of Mom's," she explained seeming to want to fill the silence.

"Didn't know Nana had friends of those sort." Mal commented tersely. Zoe saw Inara use her own elbow meaningfully. She silently applauded the woman- Mal was just making trouble and acting childish wasn't going to help the situation. If it'd been her near the man she probably would have added an instep to the beating.

His aunt shot him a tired look. "Do we have to do this Malcom? Now?"

The captain sighed, fists clenched, and shook his head, looking away, eyes fixing on an old photo hanging by the sick room entrance. "I'd like to get this over with." He gestured to the room. "If she's not tired out from her earlier _guests_." His aunt said nothing, just headed toward a roll top desk in the corner. Mal started toward the room where his grandmother lay dying, acting like it was him who was walking toward his death. "Preacher?" He invited Book to join him, supposedly to say the prayer he'd requested earlier on board. Kaylee seemed to want to go with the captain, the gentle soul probably wanting to comfort. Zoe was glad when Jayne pulled her down onto the couch beside him- the captain'd be pissed if he hurt the girls feelings in a fit of temper. The rest of the group followed the mercenary's example, although Simon was still acting like scared rabbit ready to bolt.

The door to sick room slid closed just as the lid of the desk rolled up, revealing a well stocked bar. Mal's aunt poured a good helping of something clear into her glass and took a sip before turning back to her guests. Despite Mal's insistence that the woman was snob, Zoe couldn't see any contempt in the woman. Her dislike of the group seemed to come from a wish to be alone to drink herself into unconsciousness rather than any actual hatred. She clearly thought she was better than the rag-tag group but honestly, Zoe would think the same thing if she lived in a ouse like this was faced with the odd sort of group in front of her. What did interest her was Mal- she'd made that clear by enquiring after Inara and she'd seemed honestly disappointed to learn he wasn't with the respectable looking woman. Maybe she could draw her out? "When was the last time you saw Mal?

The rest of the room seemed startled at her voice. She smiled privetly at their confusion. She was a naturally quiet woman, but this, the Captain's history, was a topic she was dearly interested in. "Years. Not since before the war ended, well, must have been right after his mother died," she took another long sip. "Yes," Her eyes moved to the same photo Mal had been staring at, "It was right after Maddie died, at the funeral."

...

The room smelled like death. Mal hated the heavy odor of dirty skin, old air, and medicine, the sort of sweet, ripe odor that made your nose want to fall off your face. His grandmother was still on the bed, eyes closed so they just looked like bruises on her face. Mal could hear the Shepard muttering beside him, quietly saying last rites and trying to stay out of the way. His Uncle Bud was staring at him, the man's face, so like his grandfathers now that age had hit him, a mess of emotions. "Oh Malcolm." The man rushed forward, hugging him to his chest like he was still a child. Mal was startled, but sank into the hug briefly, enjoying the feel of safety that his uncle's arms had always brought. "She'll be so glad you came." The older man was tearing up as they separated, moving to Clara's side and gently rousing her. "Mom? Momma, Malcolm's here. He came, just like you said he would."

Mal's stomach ached as his nana slowly came into herself, blearily looking around. "Malcolm?" He moved to her other side and his uncle moved back, settling himself into a chair a few feet from the bed and picking up the bible to give them the semblance of privacy.

"Nana," he quietly responded, he clasped her boney wrist, his hand easily encircling the frail limb. "I here."

She smiled at him for the first time since he joined the resistance, and he actually did feel like his stomach was going rebel, guilt and anger warring inside him. "My favorite boy." She whispered.

He chuckled. "Now I know you're dying." He tried to lighten the mood. "You're delirious- I'm in no way your favorite boy." He tucked the covers around her with his free hand. "You want me to get Wallie Jr.? I think that's who you mean."

Clara frowned and reached up, grabbing his collar with a surprisingly strong grip and tugged him down to her eyelevel. "Don't be foolish. You're my boy." She patted his cheek. "My Maddie Mae's boy." She let go of him but he stayed hunched over, hiding his face from the two other occupants of the room, ashamed of the tears building in his eyes. "Now you listen to me Malcolm Reynolds. I know you think this family's wronged you, wronged your momma-" He tried to interrupt her soft speech but she didn't let him. "But there are things you don't understand. Secrets I kept-" The door slid open and closed, and the two of them looked to the door, where Book was slipping out. His nana coughed and looked at him. "Get a chair boy, don't just stand there hunched over- you'll get a hump." He and his uncle shared a watery smile and then he turned away to drag a chair over. Her eyes were closed again by the time was re-settled, but she seemed to know he was there again, turning her face toward him, eyes still shut. "God help me, Malcolm, I kept things from you and your mother. But I don't regret it. There are some burdens you keep from people you love- I understand that now. Eighty years and I finally understand, sometimes the best thing you can do for a person is let go."

"Nana, what are you talking about?" He wanted to know, but he also wanted her to shut the hell up. He'd only discussed his mother once with his grandmother, never even breeched the topic after that initial argument that sent him flying into the arms of war and the black. If they kept going down this road he feared he wouldn't be able to keep his temper and he didn't want his last memory to be of them stubbornly arguing. "You never let anything go in your life." He smiled, his bad joke falling flat as her eyes flew up, unamused.

"No." She whispered. "I let everything go once. I let the prince go." She caught his hand, paper thin fingers squeezing his. "Do you remember the story?" He nodded, unsure where she was going, what she was trying to say. "It really happened Mal, the prince, the servant they're real. I had to let him go, but it didn't matter- you can't heal a broken heart." He looked again and this time could see that her eyes were glazed with drugs.

He sighed. "I know Nana. I know." He sighed, holding her hand and trying not to be disappointed. It was his own damn fault for never coming- this was the end and he couldn't count on an old woman to be clear in the throes of death.

Clara looked at the ceiling. "I loved your mother Malcolm and I love you, but sometimes you have to let the broken hearted go." Mal kissed her hand and stayed until she fell asleep, listening as his uncle quietly recited passages.

...

82 Years Ago, Shadow

The dark bar made her copper hair a beacon and her blue dress black and Clara Miller felt like woman. Eyes followed her and lips smiled and she was nineteen and free, enjoying the glee that came from occupying the unlicensed hole-in-the-wall. Her friends giggled at their table, shy and uncertain but Clara had never been uncertain in her life; she knew what she wanted and what she wanted was smiling at her from the bar.

She walked up to the handsome stranger, leaning on the bar and sliding onto the unoccupied stool beside him. "Hello."

"Hello." He was older by at least a decade, but that didn't stop her smile, and she thought to herself that the age lines around his eyes just made him more attractive. He stared at her, lips quirking up as she just sat patiently, meeting his gaze. Finally he broke. "Would you like a drink?"

"No." She shook her head. "You're not from here?" Now it was his turn to say no. "Then I want you to tell me a story."

And he did. And then he bought her a drink anyway.


End file.
